


Inspirations and Exhalations

by Camelittle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Actually Humour, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Arthur taps his inner Blackadder, But you get sunshine, Cockblocking Gwaine, Cynical scoffing at hapless innocent Californians, Except when it's foggy, Frottage, Humor, M/M, Merlin cheers grumpy Arthur up with snogging, More than Arthur does anyway, Nimue the Evil HR Director Of Doom, Obsessing about lips, Of a particularly low and sarcastic sort, Public Displays of Affection, Sarcasm, Snogging, Sorry California, snarking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 18:46:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1521614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/pseuds/Camelittle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>London-based AU, in which Nimue's an evil Californian HR director, Mordred's an incomprehensible hippy with a fine line in Silicon Valley jargon, and Arthur's the grumpypants London Office manager. The mysterious Dragon Man keeps leaving amusing, sarcastic replies on the office notice-board, in reply to Nimue's daily motivational hyper-bollocks (otherwise known as "inspirational quotes"). Could this be the person who can finally teach Arthur how to smile again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inspirations and Exhalations

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written here http://tavern-tales.livejournal.com/2609.html?thread=295217#t295217, for the wonderful Tavern Tales monthly theme: Letters, Emails and Post-Its. 
> 
> Enormous thanks to the lovely Candymacaron, Merlocked18 and Waanderlust for their lusty and enthusiastic cheerleading, with an especial shout-out to Candy for sharing her hideous corporate meditation hour experience. 
> 
> I may have found catharsis in writing about the indiscriminate use of incomprehensible jargon, and ridiculously late meeting times, but of course I couldn’t possibly comment on that. 
> 
> I don’t own the rights to these characters. They’d snog a lot more if I did.

***Monday***

“Good Morning, Arthur,” says Gwen, all bright-faced and chirpy. “Here's your inspirational quote for the day for the staff notice board!” She slaps a piece of A4 paper down on the table.

Manfully resisting the temptation to scrunch it up and hurl it back, Arthur just nods, glowering, and silently watches her face fall, which is a bit like watching a car crash, and he hates himself for it, but he can't bring himself to put on a false air of cheerfulness.

“Well, I’ll just…” Gwen backs away towards the door and scrambles through it, leaving it wide open so that Arthur has to get up and slam it shut again. He sits, fuming, staring at the paper which reads:

**~#~**

**“To find joy in work is to discover the fountain of youth.” --Pearl S. Buck**

**~#~**

He winces. The worst thing about it is that he has to pretend that he actually agrees with this shit.

How exactly do the bloody Californian touchy-feely HR mafia--who send him these ridiculous daily motifs--think this sort of bollocks will motivate the jaded, harassed Brits who cluster round the water-cooler each morning?

 _I know just the thing to cheer up our surly British colleagues_ , they (for “they” read “Nimue”) must think. _This’ll make them feel perky! I know, maybe tomorrow I'll put in an obscure baseball metaphor too. That always cheers them up! So what if they’ve just spent yet another dreary hour and a half with their noses shoved up some disgruntled fellow commuter’s sweaty armpit? Here in California it's SUNNY! and I can go SKI-ING at the WEEKEND! YAY!_

Scowling as he imagines Nim's inner dialogue, he rises and steps out to the kitchen, where he dutifully pins the quote on the staff notice board.

Still, his team are nothing if not an inventive bunch. By lunchtime, there are ten anonymous post-it notes, bearing sarcastic messages, scattered around the quote. One green note, which he’s ninety percent certain comes from Gwaine, says: “BOLLOCKS TO THAT, PRINCESS, BEER IS THE ELIXIR--G” but some of them are quite witty.

One in particular catches his eye. He’s noticed before that some of the more entertaining come-backs are carefully written onto personalised post-it notes, which have a tiny dragon embossed in one corner. This one says:

_“Quick, someone tell frowny-face Arthur about this joy-based elixir, before he develops wrinkles --x”_

Snorting despite himself, Arthur takes the post-it notes down. It wouldn’t do for the Californians to see them. The poor little things might be quite disheartened by the depths of cynicism to which the London contingent descends on a rainy February Monday.

**~#~**

***Tuesday***

Today’s quote from that sun-kissed paradise across the pond, Silicon-Valley, with its earthquake-proof cubes and its preppy optimism, is an absolute beauty.

**~#~**

**“I long to accomplish great and noble tasks, but it is my chief duty to accomplish humble tasks as though they were great and noble. The world is moving along not only by the mighty shoves of its heroes, but, also, by the aggregate of the tiny pushes of each honest worker.” --Helen Keller**

**~#~**

Surely Dragon Man (for such is Arthur’s private name for the dispenser of eloquent dragon-embossed post-its) can produce a suitable response to this one? As he pins the notice up, Arthur admits to himself that he’s actually quite looking forward to seeing what he’ll say.

Sure enough, Dragon Man does not disappoint:

_Another transparent attempt to use this trite nonsense to get us to do more for less. Does Arthur really think we’re that stupid?--x_

Arthur chuckles. It’s almost with an air of regret that he rips the note off the pinboard. Not for the first time he’s wondering who the mysterious Dragon Man could be. He’s still grinning when he turns back towards the exit of the kitchen to find his way blocked by Gwaine.

“Smiling, Princess?” Gwaine says, raising a mocking eyebrow. “That’s the first time this year. What’s happened? Cenred got fired or something?” He does a circuit around Arthur, patting his back enquiringly.

“What on earth are you doing, Greene?” says Arthur, frowning and pushing him away.

“Looking to see if there’s a switch that turns that smile on.”

“Bugger off and do some work, you layabout,” growls Arthur, clutching a fistful of used post-it notes like a posy of flowers.

***Wednesday***

**~#~**

**“Do one thing everyday that scares you.” --Eleanor Roosevelt**

**~#~**

_Not you, Gwaine. --x_

~#~

It’s been a particularly trying day. He’s been up since the crack of dawn, to talk to his Japanese HR counterpart, and even though it’s long gone 7 o’clock in the evening he’s stuck in an interminable conference call with the California HR team who are deep into meaningless, navel-gazing discussions.

Still, it could be worse. The videoconferencing system has broken, and a very attractive IT guy with startling blue eyes is pottering around with a screwdriver, trying to fix up a new one. From time to time he bends over to scrabble about under the desk, which provides Arthur with a very interesting view.

Silver linings, Arthur, silver linings.

“We are trying to accomplish evolutionary change here,” Nimue is saying for the twentieth time. “Let’s synergise our motivational message, and really drill down into the challenges. Every challenge is an opportunity to leverage the upscale, and really begin to mainstream our transformational potential.”

“Yeah!” says Morgause. “Let’s get things done, people. All right! Let’s go!”

Arthur doesn’t think anyone has a clue what Nimue is going on about, but they all agree with whatever she says regardless. He has to admit that he is equally cowardly.

“All right!” says Nimue, who is on a roll. “Let’s lean in and empower our vertical! With this growth hack we’ll all see the delta!”

“Neat!” says Cenred. Arthur can picture him jumping up and down. “Let’s hit this ball outta the park!”

There’s the sound of whooping and hi-fiving. Arthur glares at his hands-free com-set and wishes he could make it explode with the power of his mind alone.

“Arthur? Are you still with us?” Nimue doesn’t sound particularly concerned. “We couldn’t do this without you, buddy!”

“No Nimue, I’m in Timbuktu.” It’s a good thing that the videoconferencing system is still not working, so he can roll his eyes in impunity and check his watch for the hundredth time.

“Gee, Arthur! You Brits are so FUNNY!” The insane cackling hurts his ears.

***Thursday***

**~#~**

**“Lost, yesterday, somewhere between sunrise and sunset, two golden hours, each set with sixty diamond minutes. No reward is offered, for they are gone forever.”**

**~Horace Mann**

**~#~**

_Obviously these golden hours were lost somewhere other than London, where every single one of yesterday’s 24 hours was a rain-drenched shade of grey. --x_

~#~

The videoconferencing machine is still out of action, so once again he’s got company for his late night conference with the HR team. By the time he finally escapes from tonight’s call he’s nearly dead from hunger, not to mention nonplussed about how to execute the latest directive.

The skinny IT guy with the cheekbones is giving him a sympathetic look. Merlin was it? Yeah, Merlin, that’s it.

“These late night conference calls always like that?” Merlin says.

Loosening his tie , Arthur regards him bleakly before nodding.

“Pretty much,” he says, shrugging, and it turns into a stretchy sort of yawn. “Now I’ve got to work out how to follow their latest diktat without it seeming like some kind of a sick joke.”

“What’ve you got to do? It was quite hard to work it out between all the vertical leveraging, delta-ing, C-suites, and synchronising.”

“Encourage people to smile more,” says Arthur, setting his jaw grimly. “Starting with myself. With a motivational picture of me. Smiling.”

Merlin sucks air in through his teeth. “Good luck with that,” he says, turning back to the broken videoconference screen.

Arthur prowls round to his side.

“Actually,” he says, voice a deadly purr, “I rather think you’re going to need some luck, too, Merlin. Because you’re the one who’s going to take the photograph. And I will expect it to meet my exacting standards.”

Merlin straightens with an indignant air, and the way that his full lips flare and his cheeks pink with emotion is not at all enticing, oh no. “What? No! You collossal prat! I’m way overdue to go home, and besides which I’m an IT executive, not a bloody photog...”

But by the time he reaches the end of his sentence, Arthur has reached into his drawer and tugged out a digital camera.

“Here you go,” Arthur says, handing over the camera, which Merlin takes, gaping.

Arthur pulls his lips into a joyless grimace. “Cheese,” he says.

***Friday***

**~#~**

**TODAY IS SMILE AND GREET DAY - YAY!!!!! :D**

**“If someone is too tired to give you a smile, leave one of your own, because no one needs a smile as much as those who have none to give” Rabbi Samson Hirsch**

**~#~**

_Multiple exclamation marks are a sure sign of a diseased mind - Terry Pratchett--x_

~#~

When Arthur strides into the kitchen that lunchtime to launch “Smile and Greet Day”, Gwaine and the tantalisingly-lipped Merlin are there with Gwen and her gaggle of giggling females. He’s really not so sure why the picture of him smiling--or attempting to smile, at least--merits such mirth, but supposes that at least he’ll be able to report to Nimue that her strategy to cheer up the miserable Brits has been successful today.

The very thought makes him shudder and purse his lips.

“Today, we are enjoying smile and greet day,” he says, following the script, and valiantly avoiding gritting his teeth. “Please take this opportunity to introduce yourself to a colleague you’d like to get to know better. Thank you.”

He’s turning to the door, jaw welded together with chagrin, when Merlin catches his eye with a soft smile that speaks of fellow-feeling, of a shared suffering in the light of sun-drenched Californian insensitivity. He steps forward, holding out his hand.

“Hello,” he says to Arthur. “I’m Merlin. I’d like to, you know. Get to know you better, I mean.”

Slowly, hesitantly, Arthur feels his lips curve up at the corners. When he takes Merlin’s hand and shakes it, the room falls silent.

“Arthur,” he says, smiling faintly. “I...erm. Well. Thanks! We should… well, we could. You know. Lunch?”

“I’d like that,” says Merlin, with a dazzling grin that makes Arthur take an involuntary step backwards.

“Well would you look at that?” Gwaine’s saying. “The princess’s mouth does go up at the edges!”

Remembering himself, Arthur adopts his customary scowl. “Get black to bloody work, you lazy buggers,” he mutters as he exits.

***Monday***

**~#~**

**"There are two things people want more than sex and money -- recognition and praise." --Mary Kay Ash**

**~#~**

_Mary Kay Ash has obviously never met Gwaine--x_

~#~

“Good MORNING everyone. Oh, and good AFTERNOON to our colleagues in LONDON!”

Checking his watch, Arthur sighs. It’s 7pm. Clearly this passes for afternoon in the eternal sunshine of the blessed universe of Silicon Valley; in the rest of the civilised world it’s well on the way to being bedtime. He mentally calculates how long it’ll take him to get home if he leaves the office now, and his frown deepens, but he avoids rolling his eyes, because unfortunately Merlin has managed to install the confounded videoconferencing system, and he knows that his facial expressions are now, if not scrutinised, at least on display.

The worst thing about it is that one side of the screen is occupied by Arthur’s pasty, haggard-looking features, which provide a marked contrast to the bronzed, bouncy-looking juveniles who inhabit head office, and have clearly delayed this teleconference so that they can go to the gym for two hours before work. Yay! Go them!

Meanwhile, Nimue is maundering on about the latest new HR initiative.

“We’re going to roll out an enterprise-wide paradigm shift. This is a disruptive solution that will be truly game-changing! The value-added execution platform will really synergise the harmonics of the ecosystem. Here’s Mordred to tell us all about it!”

There’s a ripple of applause, and unselfconscious cries of “Woo hoo!” and “Yeah! All right!” pepper the ether.

Arthur clamps his jaws shut to avoid conspicuously grinding his teeth.

Barely out of nappies, Mordred is the CEO of Camelot Software. He drives a gas-guzzling metallic orange Lamborghini, eats a macrobiotic diet and does yoga.

To say that these breathtaking inconsistencies irritate Arthur may be understating the case somewhat.

“Hey guys,” Mordred says, holding up a self-deprecating hand to quell the enthusiastic raving that greets his words. “Whoa, dudes! Okay, Okay!”

One or two of the more sycophantic cube-dwellers carries on hooting for a bit. By the time they finally all shut up, Arthur realises his fingernails are digging painful half-moons into the pad of his hand.

“All right!” Mordred carries on. “Y’all know we’re on the edge of a seismic shift in employee relations.”

Arthur has to disguise his chortle as a sort of sneeze. He can’t help thinking that people who live in earthquake-prone areas should not bandy terms like “seismic shift” around willy nilly.

“Let's delight our staff by deploying this hypercool new solution,” Mordred continues. “It represents a paradigm shift - a hyperparadigm, if you will - that will truly allow us to leverage the synergised ecosystem in our vertical space.”

Realising that his shoulders are hunched up around his ears, Arthur lets himself try a couple of surreptitious neck-rolls, and wonders what’s in the fridge at home that he can cook quickly.

“We’re really going to growth-hack our resource. With this new mindfulness we’ll truly be able to crowdsource our hyperlocal influencers to catalyse our hyperdata!” Mordred’s in full flow now.

Take-away. Definitely. It’s going to be curry again, tonight.

Arthur really hopes Mordred’s going to finish soon. He couldn’t bear it if the baseball metaphors start up again.

“We’ve got a winning team here, and together we can hit a grand slam. Great players aren’t afraid to get their uniforms dirty. If you want to be a great leader, be willing to dive for the ball along with the rest of your team.”

Oh, God.

***Tuesday***

**“If you spend too much time thinking about a thing, you’ll never get it done.” --Bruce Lee**

_So bloody well get on with organising that lunch date with Merlin, then. --x_

_~#~_

“So, Merlin, it’s very sweet of you to ask me out on this date.” Swirling his coffee with a wooden stick, Arthur wonders when the British stopped drinking proper tea, out of a teapot, and started drinking sweet, milky coffee out of paper cups instead. He misses teaspoons.

“Date? You’ve got the wrong end of the stick, mate.” When Merlin talks, there’s a funny sort of dimple that appears under his lip. It isn’t cute or adorable, those are words Nimue would use. Arthur is definitely not staring at it, and he’s certainly not fascinated by the way that it comes and goes depending on the tone of Merlin’s voice.

Unaccustomed to this feeling that’s bubbling up inside him, which is making him want to grin like a loon, he allows himself the indulgence of a brief smirk. “Really? I thought you wanted to get to know me better?”

Merlin’s expression darkens. “God! Do you automatically assume that someone who wants to talk to you is trying to chat you up?” His voice rises and he leans forward, jabbing a finger towards Arthur. “Are you always this annoying?”

“Right,” he says, not at all distracted by how blue Merlin’s eyes are when he’s glaring like that. “Clearly not a date, then. Only a complete idiot would spend the entire time insulting his date.”

It was meant to be a joke, but when Merlin flushes and looks down at his steaming tea, Arthur wants to curse himself for his own thoughtlessness.

“Fine,” Merlin says. “I think I’ve changed my mind.” Still not looking Arthur in the eye, he pushes his chair back and stands to leave, shoulders around his ears in a dejected hunch, his tea still untouched.

Arthur feels like he’s just kicked a kitten.

“Wait!” he says. “There’s no need to be such a girl about it.” He winces. That didn’t come out quite as he’d hoped. “I mean… erm. Well.”

But it's too late. Merlin’s already on his way out of the door.

**~#~**

**“While one person hesitates because he feels inferior, the other is busy making mistakes and becoming superior” --Henry C. Link**

**~#~**

_Clearly Gwaine is highly superior. He makes loads of mistakes ALL THE TIME! --x_

HEY MERLIN, I KNOW IT'S YOU, I'LL GET YOU FOR THAT! -G

~#~

Arthur has to stalk across the crowded coffee shop in quick strides to catch Merlin's arm.

“Let me go, you prat,” Merlin says, pink dots on his arrestingly stark cheekbones. The dimples are gone now, and Arthur hates himself for it.

Swallowing, Arthur releases his arm and steps back.

“I’m really sorry,” he croaks. “I was nervous. That came out all wrong. I didn’t mean to… I mean, what I mean is… look, I wouldn’t mind if it was. A date, I mean. I… but it’s okay if you didn’t want to… I mean…” He can feel heat creeping up from his neck and around his cheeks and ears. “Oh, bollocks! I am a bit out of practice at this. I… I… I… Could we… could we… could we… I mean, maybe? Start again?”

Their eyes lock for a moment, and Merlin’s expression is grave when he nods, but then it splits into a radiant grin that makes his eyes dance and leaves Arthur quite speechless. Because obviously he’d been so articulate before. But, you know. Physical sounds. Not coming out. Not even an undignified gasp. Okay, so maybe one of those.

“All right,” says Merlin, startling Arthur out of his panicky inner monologue with a sly tilt of his head. “Did you know you’re actually quite handsome when you smile?”

And to his surprise that’s what Arthur does. Smile, that is. He can’t help himself. It’s as if Merlin has found that switch that Gwaine was looking for, or maybe it’s a dial, rather than a switch, because Merlin has managed to turn the dial up to “high”.

“Um…” says Arthur. Still finding that speech evades him, he ushers Merlin back towards their table with a hand pressed to the small of his back.

“So… Arthur.” Merlin grins as he sits. “It’s very sweet of you to ask me on a date.”

Merlin’s echoing his earlier words, he’s teasing Arthur. No-one ever teases Arthur.

And suddenly that unexpected feeling’s back, stronger than ever, born of Merlin’s audacity and his cheek. It’s bubbling up in Arthur’s belly and his shoulders, making him snort and shake with the sheer delight of it as he guffaws into his coffee cup. It’s not his usual detached, cynical amusement, it’s much bigger than that. He thinks it might be joy or exhilaration or something of that sort, but the way that Merlin joins him with a full-throated chuckle makes him forget about giving it a name and lose himself in the novelty of it. Tilting his head back, he laughs and laughs until tears start in his eyes and he has to double over at the waist, holding his ribs.

“Touché,” he says eventually, when the shakes have died down. “Oh my God, Merlin, thanks for that. You’re brilliant.”

Merlin’s regarding him with a dewy-eyed expression that Arthur really thinks he’s going to have to make an effort to put there more often. “Happy to help,” he says. “You should laugh more often.”

“I should,” says Arthur. “I really should.” And then, because he likes things to be straight, he adds “And, look, you definitely, definitively have not got the wrong end of the stick. Erm. Anyway. Just to get that out of the way.”

It’s not his imagination, he’s sure, that when he leans forward Merlin mirrors his actions, so that their faces are nearly touching, and he can smell Merlin’s tea on his breath. His heart’s pounding, and his eyes flutter closed, because he’s going to do it, he’s going to kiss Merlin, here in the London Bridge branch of Pret-a-Manger, in front of all the tourists and the suits, and it’s going to be glorious.

Their lips brush, briefly. Merlin’s are just as velvet-soft and plush as he’d imagined. Arthur shivers, a deep, hot ache pulling at his belly as he leans in to deepen the kiss.

But then, by the law of Sod, there’s a loud whoop, and a heavy hand thuds onto his shoulder, making him jerk away, abruptly.

“Get a room, Princess,” says a gleeful voice. “Anyone got a camera phone?”

“Fuck off, Gwaine,” says Arthur, inwardly resolving to go somewhere more private for lunch next time, maybe over the other side of the river, because the moment is past.

Merlin’s standing up and pulling on his overcoat, and winding an enormous scarf around his neck and face, obscuring his features so that Arthur feels bereft. “I’ve got to…” mutters Merlin into his scarf, which can’t fully disguise his beetroot-red blush. “Erm…” and with that he’s gone, skittering off into the dark like a spooked colt.

Racking frustrated fingers through his hair, Arthur fixes Gwaine with an accusing scowl.

“Sorry, mate,” says Gwaine shrugging.

***Thursday***

**~#~**

**“It is amazing what you can accomplish if you do not care who gets the credit.” ― Harry S. Truman**

**~#~**

_I was going to leave a cynical rejoinder to this quote but I don’t think it needs one --x_

YOU HAVE NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT ANYWAY, MERLS, YOU’RE SHAGGING THE BOSS -G

~#~

Snorting, Arthur rips the notes down. It’s not as if he hadn’t had his suspicions about the identity of Dragon Man. Still, he doesn’t need his burgeoning relationship with Merlin, if you can count one foreshortened kiss as a relationship, to be bandied around the office grapevine just yet.

He pins up the notice about this week’s new initiative, which he knows is going to be about as popular as an eggy fart in a crowded underground carriage.

**~#~**

**NEW! MEDITATION HOUR!!!!! EVERY MONDAY!!!!!**

**In the main conference room!!!!!**

**From 9.30 am Pacific time! Relax and empty your mind with Guru Taliesin!!!!!**

**Colleagues from London are invited to attend via our new VIDEOCONFERENCING FACILITY!!!!!”**

**~#~**

Shaking his head, Arthur spends a moment wondering exactly what universe Nimue lives in, whereby she thinks that a bunch of tired, overworked Londoners would rather spend the hour from 5.30pm til 6.30pm “emptying their minds” than going home, or in Gwaine’s case, propping up the bar in The Rising Sun.

When he returns to his office after lunch there’s a predictably scathing selection of responses pinned up under the advertisement. A mutinous bunch of glum-faced employees sit around, supping soup and doing soduku.

“Look princess,” says Gwaine. “If you can get this bloody meditation thing cancelled I promise never to cock-block you again!”

“Gwaine!” hisses Merlin, flushing deeply in a way that does not highlight his cheekbones most attractively, indeed no.

Tearing his gaze away reluctantly, Arthur sighs.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he says. “But it’ll be tricky; Nimue’s insisting we’re patched in by videoconference so we can see Taliesin face to face.”

“Erm,” says Merlin, “About the videoconferencing machine… I might be able to help with that…”

And that’s it. Arthur can’t help it, it’s happening again, it seems to be happening more and more frequently, whenever Merlin’s around in fact, and damn it if the staff haven’t started noticing.

“Good God,” says Gwen in what Arthur thinks is a rather unnecessarily melodramatic stage whisper, “whatever has happened to Arthur’s face?”

“Is he ill?” says Sophia. “Wait… no, I think… no! It can’t be! He’s actually smiling!”

“I’m always smiling,” says Arthur with a scowl. “Merlin… would you mind stepping into my office for a moment?”

Gwaine wolf-whistles. “Keep the door shut, Princess!” he says. “And try to keep the noise down, we’ll be trying to work…”

“Gwaine!” This time it’s Arthur doing the hissing.

“Sorry, Princess. There’s me cock-blocking again. Silly me.” Grinning, Gwaine cocks an imaginary gun at his own head and pulls the imaginary trigger with an ostentatious “bang”.

***Friday***

**~#~**

**"The secret of joy in work is contained in one word - excellence. To know how to do something well is to enjoy it." --Pearl Buck**

**~#~**

_Great. I enjoy my work. Please can I just do that, and not all this other meditation bollocks? --x_

~#~

It’s his monthly leadership council meeting, and Merlin, being what HR refers to as a detail-oriented person, is fussing around the videoconferencing system, checking diagnostics and tapping numbers into his tablet. Arthur’s grateful of the company; to be honest, he’s not sure that the rest of the leadership team have even noticed that he’s there. But he’s got some interesting feedback to present to leadership council, today; the results of the recent London Office Employee Engagement Survey show that there are "significant problems in the London office, with a high risk of increased regrettable attrition".

Which is HR-speak for saying that the staff are pissed off, and on the edge of resigning en masse. All it would take is one small thing, like a pebble triggering an avalanche, to tip them over the edge.

His is the last item on the agenda; there four other speakers before him, and unfortunately one of them is Alined.

The trouble with using the videoconferencing system is that he has to desist from eyerolling, sticking his fingers up in manic v-signs at his handset, or yelling “for fuck’s sake!” at it, even when it’s on mute, in case one of them can lip read. So what with one thing and another he’s even tenser than usual.

It’s half past seven, his neck hurts, he’s absolutely starving, and a bunch of idiots are droning on and on in incomprehensible acronyms.

“Has Alined got the RFI on the EANS?” says a perky-looking marketing drone who’s trying to get noticed, which means that she speaks too fast, says too much, and uses a bunch of terms no-one else understands. “Our customers want to adopt the WNG on the PGZ ASAP!”

She’s interrogating a software drone, who’s on the defensive with a bunch of newly-coined jargon of his own.

“No, Vivian.” says Alined, with his usual obstructive leer, “Marketing haven’t sent me the LEF dependencies for the new UI so that we can execute the rebranded DVRM requirements on the POH. When can you give us the SPEC on the GAMMA?”

Arthur zones them out. They could be hours at this rate. Neither of them has a clue what the other is saying, which is no surprise, because they can’t seem to use actual words, and besides which, they’re both equally incapable of actually listening to anything except the sound of their own voices.

From this angle Merlin’s cheekbones catch the light in a particularly striking way. He bites his lip when he concentrates; when he releases it, it flushes purple. He licks it, his protruding tongue shiny, moist and glistening in the glaring light of the videoconferencing device.

Looking up, he catches Arthur gazing at him and lifts his eyebrows enquiringly. Arthur does not blush. Well, all right. He feels a bit hot under the collar. He looks away for a second, and then resumes his contemplation of Merlin’s bone structure when Merlin’s not looking.

By the time they get to 7.59pm, they have one minute left of the meeting, with two speakers on the agenda. The speaker before him does a fast enough job, but it’s still gone 8pm by the time Nimue turns to Arthur.

“So, so sorry Arthur,” she says with a faux-sincere pout. “Looks like we’re getting kicked out of this meeting room. Could you send me your results in an email instead?” She leans forward so that he can see right down her cleavage, which makes him feel quite nauseated, and winks. "Thank you for being such a honey."

The teleconference screen goes black.

Looks like the employee engagement survey is going to be brushed under the carpet again.

When he looks up, Merlin’s gaping at him. “Bloody hell,” he says. “Is it like this every time?”

“Pretty much,” says Arthur, loosening his tie with a sigh.

“Respect to you, mate,” says Merlin. “And thanks, for protecting us all from this madness!”

Arthur’s beginning to think that sitting through those interminable calls might just be worth it if he is going to be rewarded with Merlin’s soft, shining, dewy-eyed expression afterwards.

“I don’t know about you,” he says after just a second or two too long of holding Merlin’s gaze, “but I could do with a drink…”

“You bet!” Merlin’s giddy grin does more for releasing the tension in Arthur’s chest than any meditation guru could ever hope to achieve. It’s pretty miraculous, really, the way that Merlin seems to be able to bring a smile to Arthur’s lips even when he’s been talking to Nimue.

"And just so there's no doubt about it," Arthur adds, stepping up into Merlin's personal space and touching that cheekbone with a curious finger. "I definitely mean that in a 'date'" sort of way.

Merlin does not step away. "Good," he says, voice a little husky. "Because so do I."

***Monday***

**~#~**

**”The secret of living a life of excellence is merely a matter of thinking thoughts of excellence. ” --Charles R. Swindoll**

**~#~**

_Me? No, I’m not sleeping. I’m over here, thinking thoughts of excellence. Can you keep the noise down? --x_

_~#~_

“What do you mean, it’s down again?”

Arthur winces at the sharp tone in Nimue’s voice. “Unfortunately, the system does not seem to like London weather conditions,” he says. It’s a relatively convincing lie. Nobody likes London weather conditions, why should a bloody machine be any different? “I have a technician working on it right now.”

Too right he does. Merlin waves at him, grinning and waving a power drill around, no doubt in direct contravention of health and safety regulations, but Arthur can’t bring himself to care.

“Unfortunately, there may be some background noise,” Arthur adds, making a complicated hand gesture.

Smile broadening, Merlin brings his hand-drill and a loose piece of plasterboard towards the teleconferencing system. Pressing the business end of the drill into the plasterboard, he flicks the switch, so that it produces an unearthly high-pitched noise, designed to make even the most relaxed Californian HR representative tense up.

“I’ll put you on mute,” shouts Arthur over the din. As soon as he’s pressed the "mute" button on the conference phone, Merlin turns off the power drill and silence floods the room. All they can hear are the monotonous tones of Guru Taliesin over the intercom, exhorting the Californians to empty their minds.

_~~“Focus on your breathing,”~~ he’s saying._

His voice reminds Arthur of his father’s, which is guaranteed to get him feeling stressed.

_~~“On being totally here in each moment with each breath. Not trying to do anything, not trying to get any place, simply being with your breath.”~~_

Instead, Arthur focuses on Merlin's breathing, which seems to be quickening, rather, and on the the way that Merlin's peeping at him shyly through his lashes.

_~~“You will find that from time to time your mind will wander off into thoughts, fantasies, anticipations of the future or the past, worrying, memories, whatever.”~~_

“It was good of you to stay, Merlin,” says Arthur, massaging the back of his neck. He’s not sure why he’s whispering, it’s clear that California cannot hear or see anything, and Nimue has probably forgotten all about them.

“That’s okay,” Merlin says, eyes going all soft and crinkly, in a totally disarming way that renders Arthur inarticulate for a moment. “Couldn’t leave our hero all alone, now could I? Besides which, if Nimue’s got a techie with her they might start probing you for details, so it’s best if I’m on hand to deflect that sort of thing. And anyway, after you were the perfect gentleman on our date last night, I felt that it was time to explore... I mean to see what you are like when you're... when you're...”

_~~”Ride the waves of your breathing, fully conscious of the duration of each breath”~~_

“When I'm... not?” says Arthur, stepping towards Merlin. He goes extra slowly and cautiously, just in case he frightens Merlin away by crowding his personal space, but that doesn’t seem to be a problem, because Merlin seems to be if anything moving a little bit closer.

“Yeah...” breathes Merlin. His smile makes one of those maddening dimples appear, and Arthur just has to press into the space with his thumb, to feel it. When Merlin turns his head to capture Arthur’s thumb between warm, full lips, Arthur’s heart rate quickens. Before he can stop himself, he darts forward and presses his mouth to Merlin’s, cupping his neck in both hands.

“That's good,” he whispers. “Because I’ve wanted to do this for so long, you have no idea.”

_~~“You may find from time to time that you are becoming aware of sensations in your body.”~~_

The breathless moan that escapes Merlin slips into Arthur’s mouth, together with a sensation of heat and moistness that warms him, dissolves his resistance, makes him sigh and angle his head slightly. The full, firm-soft sensation of Merlin’s sweet lips on his radiates through him, filling him with a maddening tension, and he abandons himself to it, expressing his desire with his tongue, hands and lips.

“God, Arthur,” with a tremble in his voice that hints at strong emotions, Merlin tilts up his hips, rubbing up against Arthur so that he can be in no doubt about his intentions. “God, look at you with your messed up hair, your tie all skewiff, and your flushed lips, the things I want to do to you…”

“You’ll hear no objections from me,” says Arthur, sounding hoarse even to his own ears, because God, that statement had sucked all the air out of his lungs like a punch, and he wants. He wants it all, and he wants it now.

_~~Being here with whatever feelings and sensations come up in any moment without judging them, without reacting to them, just being fully here, fully aware of whatever you’re experiencing.~~_

A firm hand tugs at Arthur’s shirt, frees it from the waistband of his suit trousers. Hot and insistent, it pulls him in closer until he’s lined up against firm flesh, thigh to thigh, body to body, so warm and so solid. When Merlin’s pressed up against him like that, so that he can feel the hot length of him, demanding attention, a sense of longing builds to a crescendo, deep in his gut, and he moans with a desperate need.

Swiftly he reaches behind him, sweeping everything with a grand arm gesture, so that it tumbles, crashing to the floor in a mess of papers and discarded highlighter pens. Pulling Merlin onto him, Arthur lies back onto the hard, cool boardroom table, hands and body seeking more of that blinding heat.

_~~And now bringing to mind someone for whom you have deep feelings of love. Seeing or sensing this person and noticing your feelings for them arise in your body. It may be simply a smile that spreads across your face, or your chest becomes warm. Whatever the effects, allow them to be felt.~~_

As Merlin’s weight settles atop his chest, it brings with it an extra warmth, part born of lust, but mixed with something sweet and vital, something that has been making Arthur smile and laugh more in the last week than he thinks he has done since his father died. With his mouth he feels Merlin’s lips tilting up at the sides, and it makes him grin, joy and exuberance filling his lungs. Shifting his weight a little, and letting his hands flutter down Merlin’s torso, abruptly he tugs Merlin’s t-shirt over his head, revealing an enticing expanse of pale, goose-bumped flesh. Merlin’s surprised-looking face pops out, topped by a debauched-looking mess of disheveled curls.

The movement dislodges the hands-free speaker-phone, which falls to the floor with a thud. Taliesin’s voice sounds suddenly tinny and distant; Arthur’s not really listening, because he’s having difficulty focussing on anything but Merlin’s insistent hands, his probing tongue, and the glorious firm smoothness of Merlin’s naked skin gliding beneath Arthur’s fingertips.

Giving in to an impulse, Arthur threads one hand through Merlin’s unruly hair and, groaning softly into his mouth, pulls him in closer as they kiss. Merlin’s rutting into his thigh, the heat of him spreading through Arthur’s work trousers.

_~~Relax your buttocks...the back of your thighs...the front of your thighs. Feel all these large, strong muscles becoming loose and relaxed.~~_

When Merlin’s hand whispers down the front of Arthur’s trousers, the heel of his palm adding just the right amount of pressure, Arthur lets out a long and heartfelt groan, and cants his hips forward, pushing his hard, heavy cock up into Merlin’s grip.

“Arthur? Arthur? Is that you? Are you ok?”

Suddenly Taliesin’s mesmerising and rather distant voice has been replaced by something altogether louder and more strident.

“You sound hurt, what happened?” Nimue’s voice rises through the intercom from a point over on the floor somewhere beyond where Merlin’s hastily discarded t-shirt nestles in congress with Arthur’s abandoned tie.

Shit. When the speakerphone fell onto the floor, it must have somehow deactivated the mute button. Nimue, Taliesin and all the Californians can hear absolutely everything that’s going on in the room.

“Er… Um… I’m… it’s OK, Nimue, just a small problem with the erm… with the electrical. Erm. Equipment.” Face flaming, Arthur hopes the noises he and Merlin were making weren’t too obvious. “I’m - I don’t think it’s…”

“Are you badly injured?”

“No! No, it’s OK - I mean, I’m not actually bleeding… I just dropped the… OW!” he’s improvising, now, and Merlin, the sod, is shaking with silent laughter, making the boardroom table judder as his body is wracked with suppressed sniggers, and it’s all Arthur can do not to join in.

“I’ve got to go… dropped the erm…” his voice is shaking now with the mirth that’s bubbling up, ‘Oh dear, better pick that up! Give me a hand, Merlin.” Heart pounding, Arthur surges up from the table and scrabbles underneath it, hampered somewhat by his still rampant erection.

“You sound out of breath. Are you feeling OK?”

“Er - yeah? I mean, no! I’ll have to… look, putting you on mute, OK?”

Finally he reaches the speakerphone and presses the mute key, at which point both he and Merlin dissolve into a jelly-legged, guffawing mess on the boardroom floor.

“Your face, Arthur!” Merlin says. “You should have seen it.” He scrunches up his face in what Arthur supposes is meant to be an imitation of Arthur’s original expression of surprised, embarrassed horror, but his mouth twists and he ends up with a goofy-faced expression of delight instead.

“You’re a fine one to talk!” Arthur protests. “Sitting there grinning like a loon after you attacked me with your ninja tongue!”

“It was brilliant, though. Can we do that again?” Merlin’s chuckles have settled into a sort of sparkly-eyed grin, and it’s at that moment that Arthur realises he’s well and truly fucked. Because Merlin’s face, when it’s wreathed with smiles like that, should be pickled and put in a jar for later enjoyment or the propagation of world peace. Arthur finds himself wondering if there’s a Nobel Prize for smiling, because really, Merlin deserves one, his is so contagious it contains enough bottled joy to light up the building, or, to be honest, Arthur’s entire world.

“Fat lot of help you were, you bastard,” says Arthur, unable to put any of these thoughts into words.

Carefully restoring the speakerphone to its rightful place on the table, where Guru Taliesin’s voice has started up again, Arthur turns back to Merlin, who is putting his t-shirt back on.

“What say you we take this…” he’s not sure what to call it, because it’s not a relationship, not yet, although he knows he’d like it to be, “...erm. Back to my place?”

“Yeah,” says Merlin, trying to tamp down his near-vertical hair, which Arthur itches to tame with his fingers. “Yeah, I’d like that. A lot.”

_~~Now it’s time to leave the external world behind, and go on an inner journey. A journey to a place of deep inner stillness.~~ says Guru Taliesin._

But, in London at least, there’s no-one listening.

***Friday***

**~#~**

**“If we go down into ourselves, we find that we possess exactly what we desire.” --Simone Weil**

ARTHUR IF YOU GO DOWN ON MERLIN HE’LL GIVE YOU ANYTHING THAT YOU DESIRE --G

A new, orange post-it note, decorated with a small crown in one corner, is on the pinboard today.

**_I can confirm that this is the case - A_ **

**~#~**

Through the scrying glass of the transatlantic videoconferencing system, Arthur can see Nimue regarding him with narrowed, spiteful eyes. When she pouts, her perfectly golden Californian skin puckers around her lips.

“I see you’ve managed to fix your teleconferencing system in time for the Employee Impact Awards ceremony, then, London?” She hisses. Her eyes really do look a bit piggy when she frowns like that. “Funny how nearly all of you missed most of the meditation session.”

It’s an “All Hands” meeting and HR are giving out “Employee Impact” awards. The London team, eager to be recognised for their improved sales performance, have turned out in force. They turn expectant eyes to the screen, even though it’s 5.00 on a Friday evening, and by rights they should all be in The Rising Sun, toasting their successes with a well-kept pint of Fullers London Pride, followed in time-honoured fashion by a chicken vindaloo.

“Although of course, Arthur and Merlin managed to join us for the first part of it, before the teleconferencing equipment blew. How did you find Guru Taliesin, Arthur?”

Momentarily at a loss for words, Arthur exchanged a look with Merlin and has to work hard to make his face look serious.

“Erm… truly… Inspirational, Nim, honestly,” he manages to choke out, eventually, pinking. “Thanks. I’m… I’m like… like a new man.”

“More like... shagging… a new man,” murmurs Gwaine, sotto voce, so that Arthur has to kick him, hard, under the boardroom table.

But it’s too late to do anything else, because Mordred has come to the microphone. Eschewing standard presentation advice, he clambers onto the Californian office table and sits on it, cross-legged and bare-foot, as he gazes fondly upon his minions.

 _Clearly Mordred has been learning a thing or two from Guru Taliesin,_ thinks a small, insubordinate part of Arthur. _No doubt he’s at one with his inner harmonics, or some such bollocks._

“Congratulations everyone on another fantastic quarter,” says Mordred, stretching into the Lotus position, and putting his hands together as if in prayer.

 _Pretentious twat,_ thinks the inner, treacherous Arthur, who’s been getting more vocal of late, probably under the influence of a certain cheeky IT executive. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Merlin was using the connection they’d made over the weekend through their bodies to beam telepathic, mutinous thoughts into Arthur's brain.

Finding himself drifting away for a second, as he contemplates said bodily connection, Arthur has to wrench his thoughts out of the gutter, where they’d been reliving some of the choicer moments of the weekend. Like the time when Arthur had tried to suck Merlin’s brain out through his cock, and Merlin had reciprocated with such enthusiasm Arthur thought he wouldn’t be able to walk again for some weeks afterwards.

_Now, now, Arthur. It wouldn’t do to get an erection right now. Save it for later. Our great leader is speaking._

“We’ve reached down into ourselves,” Mordred’s droning, “and through that inner harmony, we have innovated, and managed to architect a disruptive vision, and operationalize the positive feedback loop. Simply put, this quarter has illustrated our ability to hyper-catalyze the mission of the company, and upscale the leveraged paradigm to a synergistic new high.”

Arthur avoids meeting anyone’s eye in London, and keeps his eyes firmly on the screen, desperately trying to ignore the game of “Buzzword Bingo” that’s broken out amongst the London staff, accompanied by whispering, nudging, rustling, and slurping of beverages through corporate cooling mugs. He has a suspicion that some of the staff (namely Gwaine) have not just got water in theirs, and have turned Mordred’s interminable and impenetrable speech into an impromptu drinking game.

Tamping down the urge to join in, when the giggling and snorting becomes a little bit too obvious, he hastily scribbles _“shhhh!”_ on a piece of paper and, frowning, flashes it round the room where Nimue can’t see it.

Gwaine flashes a piece of paper back. _“It’s past beer o’clock, Princess”._

“And, to finish, our Employee Impact Awards announcements.” Finally Mordred’s wrapping up, thank all the deities. There’s a noticeable straightening of ties and smoothing of hair in the London office, particularly in the area occupied by the sales team, where Sefa, in particular, has boasted record-breaking new figures.

“Our staff are our greatest asset,” says Mordred, “and to show our valued employees how much we appreciate their contribution, we will be issuing a $25 dollar voucher, useable at any Bay Area Movie Theatre! Congratulations!”

The California office erupts in whoops and high-fives, while London sits in mutinous silence, arms folded. Leaning forward, Arthur presses the “mute” button on the speakerphone.

“And how about London office employees?” he says. “What will they get? Obviously, we can’t spend Californian dollars on Californian movie theatres here, in London.”

Nimue looks at him, mouth open, a tiny crease appearing to mar her otherwise perfectly botoxed forehead.

“Gee, Arthur,” she says, after a while. “Can we take that discussion offline?”

Arthur’s about to agree, but Merlin nudges him, and he looks around the room at the sea of glum-looking faces. Everyone is looking to him for guidance, for leadership. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

He’s not the sort of man who is given to dramatic outbursts or emotional displays, but this cavalier, insensitive treatment of his hard-working staff really gets his goat. He has a sudden urge to smack Nimue, hard, in her perfectly be-lipsticked chops. Taking a couple of short breaths to calm his voice, he nods, twice, at the camera, but not in agreement.

Instead, he grabs the mike and starts to speak.

“No, Nimue, I don’t think we can.” Pausing to check that his rebellion has started to register with her, he waits for her expression to darken before adding, “I can think of no better time for this. It has been building for months, and yet you and your staff at head office seem oblivious. You have deliberately ignored all my emails about employee engagement, and seem to treat us like some sort of cash cow to be milked... well, it is time it stopped.”

He allows himself to glance at Merlin, who’s gazing at him in shining-eyed rapture, which lends him the strength he needs to go one step further.

“Nimue… I... I… erm… I resign,” he says, simply, surprising even himself.

It wasn’t as if he had planned to do this, but now it’s done, it’s as if a large, California-shaped burden has been lifted from him, and he has to fight quite hard to tamp down the mirth which threatens to overwhelm him at Nimue’s shocked expression.

Stepping forward to grab his hand, Merlin leans forward over the microphone. “Me too,” he says. “I’m only here because Arthur’s gorgeous. He’s a brilliant boss, everyone here adores him, but you treat him like shit. As for me, well, I could walk into a job anywhere in London for twice this wage. I resign.”

“Oh fuckit. Me three!” says Gwaine. “Arthur and Merlin are the only good thing about this bloody job.”

“Erm, excuse me,” Gwen is standing up now, managing to look both determined and demure, as only she can. “I want to leave, as well. I think there are significant… communication issues in this company… and… and… what I mean to say is, I’ve seen that Arthur’s tried, and it’s not his fault. I’d like to erm… erm… resign.”

Arthur looks on in amazement as, one by one, every single member of the London office resigns their post.

“What?” Nimue’s piercing screeches make him wince. “Arthur Pendragon, I’ll… you… you have orchestrated this to humiliate me, you have deliberately… you’ve undermined me from day one… you’re fired… wait… I’ll sue you! I’ll take you to the cleaners! I’ll… I’ll…”

Thankfully, Merlin’s on the case. He fiddles with the phone and the videoconferencing system for one last time, and they go blessedly silent.

Everyone in the room exchanges triumphant looks, except Merlin, who strides over to Arthur, presses him against the wall, and, threading long fingers through his hair, snogs him breathless.

Seemingly no longer in control of his hands, he's vaguely alarmed to find that one of them is kneading Merlin's taut buttocks, while the other one has already found its way under Merlin's tatty t-shirt to the warm, firm flesh that lies beneath.

What with the way that Merlin's full, velvety lips brush a sensual trail across his mouth and down his neck, making him shiver deliciously in anticipation of their next act, Arthur could be forgiven for not noticing the cacophony of cat-calls and wolf-whistles that greets this development.

He's vaguely aware of someone speaking.

“Well done, Princess,” says Gwaine through the din. “That was truly… inspirational!”

ooO8O~ The End ~O8Ooo

**Author's Note:**

> I shamelessly plagiarised Guru Taliesin's meditation scripts from http://www.the-guided-meditation-site.com/guided-meditation-script.html and http://www.innerhealthstudio.com/meditation-scripts.html. 
> 
> Don't be fooled by Arthur's cynical exterior; these meditation exercises are actually very wholesome and healthy, as long as you don't try to undertake them in a stressful office environment when you've got a dodgy commute awaiting you afterwards. 
> 
> Context is key, Nimue!


End file.
